Simon could have sworn time had stopped for an instant. He could feel the sweat on his forehead.

  “I don’t understand,” he lied.

  “You do,” Lord Paimon replied without care or pity. “Show it to me.”

  He knows. Somehow, he knows. Does he want to kill me and take the Class? Or did Father inform him? Maublanc Paimon didn’t strike Simon as the type to kill him on the spot—even if he had been Balzam’s pet and follower in all things—but his tone remained dangerous. I have to play this very carefully.

  Simon clenched his teeth and summoned his Class outfit. Maublanc kept his composure, having clearly expected something like this.

  “So I was right…” Lord Paimon muttered to himself, his jaw tightening into a dark scowl. “Who killed Balzam?”

  “It wasn’t me,” Simon insisted.

  “I know, I’ve read Shabram’s reports.” Maublanc joined his hands. “Do you know who did it then?”

  “No,” Simon replied with a scowl. “I thought it might have been Firewand for a time–”

  “Firewand?” Maublanc squinted. “Why would you think that? Her slave mark prevents her from harming the Overlord.”

  “Her mark is faulty,” Simon replied, though he couldn’t exactly explain why. “It’s an Overlord thing. I can sense it. It’s flawed.”

  Maublanc grunted upon hearing this, yet he quickly dismissed the possibility. “She doesn’t have it in her. She would be the last person on this earth to strike down your father even without the mark. It has to be Louis or Euphemia, maybe both. Their little cold war has been boiling over for years.” He shook his head and changed the subject. “When did you learn that your father entrusted you with the Class?”

  “Since I woke up with it.” Which was technically true. “I don’t know why he chose me.”

  “He must have seen something in you,” Maublanc theorized with a scoff. “He did say he could never see you coming.”

  Simon’s head perked up. “What?”

  “It’s something your father told me when we played cards once.” Lord Maublanc rested his head on his fist as he reminisced. “I asked him why he kept you around without giving you any responsibility. A bastard with nothing to do was a waste. He replied that he could never see you coming, whatever that meant. He never elaborated on that.”

  I have a good idea what he meant. Simon’s thoughts immediately drifted to his father’s death list and the many nightmares where he had seen himself murder Balzam Magnos. Did he keep me defanged because I would have killed him otherwise?

  Why not just kill Simon in the crib, then? He didn’t think Balzam Magnos would balk at filicide. Something didn’t add up here.

  “It does not matter why your father chose you, only that he did.” Maublanc forced himself to smile. “Let us not talk about the past. You have no need to worry, Simon. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Simon didn’t entirely relax, but he knew Maublanc Paimon wasn’t the kind to lie to others’ faces. He was blunt and unrelenting, as befitting of a Commander. Political intrigue never appealed to him, and he had been content ruling the Berwick Islands as viceroy and serving as Father’s head tactician for the last twenty years… but he was also present during the council meeting that poisoned him a few reigns back.

  “What gave me away?” Simon asked warily, trying to fish for information.

  “Nothing you did personally.” Maublanc leaned back in his chair. “I’ll be blunt, I thought marrying my daughter to his upjumped bastard was your father’s final insult. A joke, a taunt that she wasn’t worthy of Thalas or Louis.”

  Simon bit his tongue at the upjumped bastard part. Maublanc had treated him cordially enough in the past, but he remained a bastard in his eyes.

  “But then I found it odd how he showered you with gifts on his way out of this world. Legitimization, a whole princedom, my daughter’s hand? That was too much. Then there was the fact he chose a stranger associated with a vengeful house for an heir…” Maublanc chuckled. “Something didn’t add up.”

  I was too greedy, Simon thought. He kept his mouth shut and let Maublanc reveal more.

  “A thought then crossed my mind: what if that ‘Casval’ was a mere smokescreen? A decoy meant to distract our enemies while his true heir was left to secure his powerbase right in front of us all? What if the engagement wasn’t a slight… but a calculated move?” It was a completely wrong assumption, but one which Lord Paimon clearly wanted to believe in. “My inability to target you with any divination spells swiftly confirmed my suspicions. Only the Anathemic Secrecy Perk is so invulnerable to such scrutiny.”

  So that’s how he did it. Simon wanted to beat his head on the table. The only reason most people didn’t notice his immunity to divinations was that he was usually too unimportant to bother with. Entering the spotlight was a terrible mistake.

  Wait, did others know? Lady Shabram had to have cast divination spells as part of her investigation into his father’s death. She should have instantly figured it out when they failed to provide information on Simon. Did she find out and say nothing anyway? Why? Did it somehow serve her agenda to ensure that the Overlord faded into obscurity?

  Why did every reign bring new questions and few answers?

  “The old bastard must have thought I would be the only prince or noble in the realm who wouldn’t take the Overlord Class for himself,” Lord Maublanc guessed. “Your engagement to my daughter was likely his idea of a bribe: my Anna on the throne as empress, in exchange for my support and armies.” He leaned back in his seat with a hint of nostalgia. “Or maybe he truly did value my service. Maybe he cared in the end.”

  He raped your daughter and joked about it in a previous reign. Would he have done something so vile if he cared? It took Simon all of his composure not to spit on his worthless father’s memory. I was the only one who cared.

  However, he could tell Maublanc truly wanted to believe his liege trusted him and his line with the Overlord Class. It should have been easy to figure out that Simon had likely forged Balzam’s testament, but that would mean admitting that his father didn’t even think to involve Lord Maublanc in the line of succession; something that would wound his pride.

  “Since you have just inherited your Class, we will need to build up your strength until you are ready to reclaim the Crimson Throne,” Maublanc said without skipping a beat. “I’m certain my brother set up this situation because he expected the fools and traitors in the capital to tear each other apart. We will build up our forces while the lions devour each other.”

  “Reclaim the Crimson Throne?” Simon’s heart skipped in his chest in enthusiasm. “I… I admit I have no interest in the throne. I didn’t ask for this.”

  “I understand your reluctance, Simon, but claiming the Crimson Throne is your duty as Overlord and your father’s last wish.” Maublanc raised an eyebrow. “Certainly you know how the Class only passes on through death? This is a burden you will have to wear for the rest of your life.”

  “I would rather have retired away from all the bickering and backstabbing in the capital.”

  “Believe me, I understand you more than you think. I have no appetite for pointless politicking either… but alas, when men are called to war, they must answer.” Lord Maublanc gave Simon a stern look. “Moreover, if I have figured it out, then it’s only a matter of time before others do. The hunt for this Casval keeps the hounds busy for now, but once they have caught their prize and found him wanting, they will look inward and turn your way.”

  He’s got a point. Simon had left behind too many hints about his true identity this time. Louis and Euphemia are no fools. They’ll figure it out sooner or later.

  Lord Paimon dismissed his worries with a hand. “You’re only afraid because you don’t know what your Class can do. I’m sure you’ll change your mind once we’ve brought you to an acceptable level.”

  Now that appealed to Simon. “Will you help me level-up?”

  “Yes, of course. A weak Overlord will not inspire men to raise their banners.” Lord Maublanc wistfully stroked his beard. “You will also marry my dear Anna as soon as possible. I have already taken measures to organize the ceremony.”

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  “Marry Anna?” Simon choked. “But we’ve just been engaged, surely this is premature…”

  Maublanc’s expression darkened significantly. “It was your father’s last wish. Most importantly, with the loss of your princedom, you are currently without a powerbase of your own. Marrying my daughter would secure your rightful place in the eyes of nobles and commoners alike.”

  Those were empty excuses. His true motive was far simpler: the old fox wanted his daughter sitting on the Crimson Throne next to the new Overlord, and every day Simon spent unmarried increased the chances that he would find someone else.

  He wants his grandchild on the throne, one way or another, Simon thought. He won’t give me the choice to hide. He will reveal my Class to the world eventually. It’s just a question of when.

  Still, it wasn’t a bad deal. Simon wasn’t certain about marrying Anna, but it would at least keep her away from Thalas, and Maublanc Paimon was one of the most powerful people in the entire empire. His support could help Simon level-up quicker than ever, especially since it was in his best interests to see his future son-in-law grow in strength. Although he had no interest in being anyone’s puppet, Simon decided to play along this time.

  Time was the one thing he had plenty of.

  Maublanc spent the rest of the flight grilling Simon about the Overlord Class and his retainers. The lord was familiar with both Leonard and Meredith—the former having served under him during previous imperial campaigns and the latter having a good reputation—so the two were told the truth about the Overlord Class, and while doubtful about Lorimor, Simon was able to persuade him. Anna would be brought into the conspiracy as well, since it would be difficult for Simon to hide something so big from his future wife. Everyone else would be left in the dark.

  “Devour Crestone?” Lord Maublanc inquired with curiosity.

  “That’s one of the Perks I received when I first got the Overlord Class,” Simon lied. The Anathemic Secrecy Perk thankfully allowed him to obscure his true level and abilities, so he could afford to manipulate the information he shared with his future father-in-law. “I can apparently consume a Crestone and gain one of its Perks, so long as I’ve unlocked it in another Class.”

  “Balzam never told me about that one… but yes, it would make sense for you to focus on obtaining an exp or stat-boosting Perk. I will have people looking for both.” Maublanc stroked his beard as he pondered what to do with this revelation. “There are two kinds of stats: base stats, which are your natural stats when you don’t use a Crestone, and stat modifiers, which are the stats you gain from wearing a Class outfit. The more you progress in a Class, the greater the modifiers.”

  Simon had noticed as much. He had grown slightly stronger since using the Overlord Class, but those improvements paled compared to the might he wielded when putting the armor on.

  “Leveling-up in a Class strengthens your soul and body with mana, or in your case, miasma,” Maublanc explained. “This slightly raises your base stats over time, so you keep some benefits even should you lose your Crestone, though these improvements are nowhere near as consequential as Class modifiers.”

  “Does having levels in one Class influence the growth rate of another?”

  Lord Maublanc shook his head. “Classes level-up independently alongside their own unique experience track. I was a level fifty-two Warmaster before your father entrusted the Commander Crestone to me, and it didn’t slow down my progress in the slightest.”

  So training in other Classes did have another benefit beyond fueling Devour Crestone in that it would slightly raise Simon’s overall base stats. Would those improvements carry on from one reign to another? The Gladiator Perks and levels hadn’t, but he hadn’t thoroughly kept track of his base stats when using that Class.

  Lord Maublanc gave him a stern look. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not a good idea. Small improvements in base stats aren’t worth the stronger Perks you could obtain by specializing in the Overlord Class… unless you plan to live longer than the elves.”

  “I hope I can one day,” Simon mused. The room shook a little, signaling the airship’s descent. “Have we arrived?”

  “We have.” Maublanc invited Simon to look through the porthole, which he did. “Welcome to Carcas.”

  The capital of the Berwick Islands, Carcas, was also its most recent city. House Magnos’ former seat had taken heavy damage during Father’s unification of the archipelago, and Gargauth personally completed its destruction during the Reformation, so Father saw fit to raise a new castle and city in the northeast. True to its origin as a fortress-city, Castle Carcas was an imposing mass of stone protected by three large ramparts and just as many moats, with the suburbs having grown around it until they reached the seashore. Fifteen thousand people inhabited it nowadays, which was merely a fraction of something like Marthrone, but Carcas had grown wealthy on the fur trade, ivorywork, and whale oil.

  The airship landed at the docks near seabound warships and fishing ships alike. The climate was far chillier than Telluria or Marthrone, so much so that Simon had to put on a bearfur coat so as not to shiver. Knights bearing the griffon crest of House Paimon came to greet them and accompanied them to Castle Carcas’ gates.

  Anna awaited them on the threshold, alongside Tiella.

  “Greetings, Father,” Anna said, dressed in a pretty dress of white mink fur. She smiled at Simon, then gave him a mocking noble bow with an exaggerated tone. “Prince Simon, please let me welcome you to our humble and ghost-infested abode. To celebrate your legitimization, I have taken the liberty of moving you to a room with a king-sized bed; you’ll love it.”

  “Princess Anna, what a pleasure it is to meet you,” Simon replied jokingly before taking her hand and lightly kissing it, which clearly amused her. He then turned to Tiella. “And who is this charming creature?”

  “Tiella Decarabia, Your Highness,” Tiella replied before giggling when Simon kissed her hand next.

  “We’ll work on your manners, Simon,” Anna said with a warm smile. “Seriously, I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Anna,” Simon replied. “Are you back from Telluria already?”

  “I never left for it, thanks to you. I won’t lie, I was looking forward to attending the academy this year, but I suppose you will have the rest of your life to make up for it.” She moved to embrace her father next. “Did you have a good trip?”

  “Each visit to Marthrone lets me appreciate our home more,” Lord Maublanc complained as he took his daughter into his arms and hugged her warmly. Unlike Balzam, Lord Maublanc never shied away from paternal affection. “I am truly sorry we had to delay your studies. This came as a surprise to us all.”

  “It’s fine, Dad,” Anna replied with a chuckle. “We can start our own academy at home. The Berwick Winter School for Faraway Backwater Officers.”

  “It would not be a bad idea to create a naval academic center in the islands, especially considering the importance of our new airships,” Lord Maublanc said wistfully. “I will think about it. In the meantime, I trust you to show your fiancé his new accommodations.”

  “Of course. I’ll give him a tour of the castle while at it.” Anna chuckled at Simon. “Have I ever told you the Tale of the Bloody Queen’s Ghost?”

  “Yes, yes you did, Anna,” Simon replied as he followed her and Tiella inside. Balzam Magnos’ first wife, Eleanor Magnos, had been assassinated by Gargauth’s killers during the Reformation. The castle still suffered from cases of haunting in spite of multiple Priests and Exorcists’ attempts to purify it. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Then you won’t mind having her haunted room on the third floor? Because that’s the one Father assigned you.” Anna leaned over to whisper in his ear. “It has a secret trapdoor that leads straight to my own bedchambers, if you feel adventurous.”

  Simon chuckled. “Aren’t we supposed to wait until marriage, milady?”

  “Rah, you didn’t even blush! You’re no fun, Simon.”

  Castle Carcas was mostly made of sturdy black stone and treantwood, with its roof tiled with burnished brass shingles. Simon used to be forced to sleep on the second floor with servants and lesser guests, but his newfound ennoblement as a prince meant he could access the third floor reserved for House Paimon.

  His bedchamber was larger than the one he had in Castle Frightwall, with a king-sized bed, a dressing table furnished with a bottle of wine and glasses, a wardrobe, bookshelves, a private bathroom, and a sword and armor rack. The large window offered an incredible view of the port and sea, and true to Anna‘s warning, she showed him a trapdoor near the western corner of the wardrobe.

  “It’s going to be awkward with my dad now,” Anna mused after dismissing Tiella and the others, leaving her and Simon alone. She wasted no time opening the wine bottle and serving them a glass each. “He was your honorary uncle and now he’ll be your father-in-law, so… I guess you’ll have to call him Lord Fathuncle or something like that from now on.”

  “How are you feeling about that?” Simon asked upon sipping his wine. Berwick’s dry climate forced them to import grapes from abroad, so the quality was significantly worse than what he had tasted in Telluria.

  “The fact I won’t attend the academy this year, or the fact we’ll have to fuck?”

  Simon scoffed. “Both?”

  “Mmm…” Anna looked through the window as she drank. “I won’t lie, I would have preferred to have a choice in the matter of my husband.” She chuckled. “But if I have to marry a prince, better you than Thalas.”

  “I see…” Simon felt a little guilty about that. He had engineered this engagement because he didn’t want her to suffer with Thalas, but it had robbed her of her choice. “I’m sorry. There’s still time to break off the engagement.”

  “I never said I wanted to break it,” Anna teased him while playing with her glass. “Nonetheless, I am a princess, and a prince ought to go on a quest to earn my hand. Kill a beast, bring her a shiny new crown, that sort of thing…” She winked at Simon. “How about you bring me a dragon’s head for our wedding? Then I’ll give you my eternal love.”

  Simon shuddered upon remembering his last encounters with Vouivre and Casval. “That would be a significantly difficult task.”

  “Fine, I’ll settle for an ogre or a leprechaun.”

  “What I can promise you is that your life will never be boring with me in it.”

  “Truly? A very bold claim.” Anna studied him from head to toes. “There’s something different about you, Simon. Why did my father agree to this match again? He looked too happy to marry me to a former bastard, no offense.”

  Simon glanced at the door to check if it was locked, then transformed into his Overlord outfit.

  Anna dropped her glass in shock, the wine staining the carpet. “No way…” she covered her mouth. “But then that means your father is–”

  “Dead,” Simon cut in. “We still don’t know who slew him, or why he transferred his Class over to me. You’ll have to keep this information to yourself until we find his murderer.”

  “I… see.” Anna gulped as she studied the Overlord outfit. “I… I would offer my condolences, but we both know your father was an ass.”

  Simon snorted. “You have no idea.”

  “It looks good on you, though,” Anna said upon touching the armor. “A bit too many spikes for my taste, but not bad, not bad at all…”

  “... help…”

  Uh?

  What was that?

  “Help… please…”

  The whisper startled Simon, who immediately disabled the Overlord outfit and looked around. “Did you hear that?”

  Anna raised an eyebrow. “Hear what?”

  “I heard a voice,” Simon insisted, though he could see nothing. “Coming from below, I think.”

  “Must have been the Bloody Queen’s ghost,” Anna teased him. “Mayhaps she has already taken a liking to our new Overlord.”

  She said that as a joke, but… the voice Simon had heard didn’t belong to a wailing woman’s ghost. It had been deep, sinister, a rattle in a coffin.

  Inhuman.

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